


Wicked Grace is for Liars

by Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka)



Series: How to Win a Losing Hand: One-Shots from the Love Story of Varric Tethras and Maria Cadash (Canon Dragon Age Setting) [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Carta dwarves with hearts of gold, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Non-Canon Relationship, Nudity, Pre-Relationship, Public Nudity, Strip Wicked Grace (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras' Chest Hair, Wicked Grace (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold
Summary: Varric Tethras organizes the infamous Wicked Grace game because Maria Cadash gets an interesting wrinkle in her forehead every time someone calls her Lady Cadash. Originally posted as a prompt fill on Tumblr for Fluffuary!
Relationships: Female Cadash/Varric Tethras, Female Inquisitor/Varric Tethras, Maria Cadash/Varric Tethras - Relationship
Series: How to Win a Losing Hand: One-Shots from the Love Story of Varric Tethras and Maria Cadash (Canon Dragon Age Setting) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896694
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	Wicked Grace is for Liars

Varric, unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, sat through too many games of strip wicked grace to be surprised by how the tables had turned. He nonchalantly looked up from his hand, but he wasn’t able to stiffle his chuckle as Curly grew steadily more and more beet red from the tips of his ears the whole way to, Varric guessed but would not dare confirm, his bare ass pressed against the bench.

“Don’t say a _word_ , dwarf.” Cullen snarled as effectively as he could while sitting in all his Maker-given glory and nothing else. 

“I tried to warn you, Curly.” Varric laughed. From across the table, Maria’s eyes glimmered joyfully. She had her head resting on Dorian’s shoulder and Cullen’s…cape, _thing_ , around her own. She’d been pleased to win it from Josephine. Cullen had been hopeful she’d give it back to him, but their Inquisitor was just as merciless as their Ambassador.

“ _Never_ bet against an Antivan, Commander.” Josephine pulled the last pot towards her with a flourish of her ruffled sleeves. The good news, Varric reminded himself as he folded his own abysmal hand, was that most of the time the clever little Ambassador was on their side. 

Cassandra pushed her chair back, the legs scraping against stone as she scoffed. “I’m leaving.” 

“So soon, Cass?” Maria lifted her head from Dorian’s shoulder. 

“I don’t want to witness our Commander’s walk of shame back to the barracks.” 

“Well, I do!” Dorian perked up immediately, lifting his glass of cheap wine to his mustache with a sly, predatory grin that made Cullen flush all the more crimson. In fact, Varric would hazard to say the shade _nearly_ matched Maria’s scarlet hair. 

“Inquisitor…” Cullen pleaded helplessly. Maria shook her head quickly, a corner of her smile curling her lips. 

“Don’t Inquisitor me. You got yourself into this mess.” 

“It comes off.” Cole reached out to touch the furred mantle over Maria’s shoulders with an air of bewilderment. “I didn’t know it came off…”

Laughter broke across the table, Maria slammed her head down on the table, shoulders wracked with mirth as Josephine stood up with complete, elegant nonchalance. She picked up both Cullen’s shirt and breeches, threw them over her arm, and began to sashay away.

Varric stood as well, the spell breaking over the assembled group. Chairs pushed back, coin clinked, last sips of ale and wine thrown into open mouths. The only three still sitting were Maria, the Iron Bull, and Cullen. Maria raised her silver eyes from the table and slowly spun out of the chair, turning her back on the poor commander with an amused toss of her head. 

Cullen pushed his chair back so violently it clattered to the floor. The only sight Varric caught of him was freckled pale flesh dashing up the stairs behind Josephine. 

“To Cullen!” Bull cheered, raising the last of his ale and downing it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, stretching. Varric shook his head while Maria drifted to his side, the rest of the group scattering. Bull cast a meaningful glance in Varric’s direction as he too ascended the steps. 

“I’m glad you came along for the ride, Princess.” Varric grinned into her face, flushed rosy with laughter and the spiced ale she favored. Maria made a small, non committal noise in her throat and looked into the flickering flames. A small armchair, just the right size for her to curl up in and get lost, stood just to the right. She leaned back against the chair, watching him with those striking eyes. 

“How’d you know I needed this tonight?” She asked quietly. 

“Well, typically, I know everything.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Although I confess, it’s not hard to tell. We’ve been back at Skyhold getting ready for this damn Orlesian nonsense for months. You get this little wrinkle between your eyes every time someone bows and calls you Lady Cadash.” 

As if to illustrate his point, her brows drew together and she glared at him playfully. “See!” He waved with a beaming grin. “Just like that.” 

“Varric…” She warned softly. He sighed, adopted an air of weary martyrdom as he sidled around her, dropped himself into the armchair so she had to twist to look down at him from her perch on the armrest. He patted his thigh with an arched brow. 

She considered it for a moment, but only for a brief one before she slid effortlessly into his lap. He hadn’t been sure she would, had half-thought she’d smack him for presumption. 

He hadn’t _quite_ expected his body to react to her so viscerally. His arm moved on his own, curling around her soft waist, the thin cotton shirt warmed from a combination of her own heat and the fire in front of them. He wanted to dip his nose to the dip of her neck, to inhale greedily the scent of leather and spices, elfroot and alchemy. 

“It’s easy to forget you’re not just an icon. A symbol. Like those statues of Andraste holding bowls of fire. It’s easier when we’re out of Skyhold, when it’s just our people out in camp or trekking through whatever blighted wasteland you drag us to.” 

“You’re the only person I’ve heard refer to the Emerald Graves as a blighted wasteland, Varric.” She reprimanded with a mischievous grin. 

“Roots the size of us, Princess!” He exclaimed, horrified. “And you nearly had to scrape me off a giant’s foot.” 

“I saved you.” She reminded him with a fond roll of her eyes. “So stop your whining.” 

“That’s the gift of being the storyteller. In my version, I heroically dash in and rescue you from becoming toe fungus.” 

“So very grateful for the assist, Serah.” Maria purred, shifting in his lap so she could wrap both her arms around his neck, still encased in the leather gloves she hardly removed. 

He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help himself. He stole a glance at her brilliant eyes and found himself breathless in the face of them. She frowned in concentration, while she peered into his face.

For a moment, he feared she’d see everything there. The heartache, the loneliness, the disappointment. 

For a dizzying second, he almost hoped she would. 

“Do you?” She asked 

“Do I…?” He sounded like a blighted idiot, a nug-brained kid with a girl in his lap for the first damn time, but Ancestors help him he couldn’t figured out what she was talking about. 

“Do you forget I’m a real person?” She whispered. 

He’d been beside her through deserts and battles, swamps and rain-drenched coast, through her worst nightmares in the Fade, through his. And she _couldn’t_ be real, his mind protested, because she was certainly too brilliant, too brave, too kind to be real. 

And yet, Maria Cadash perched in his lap. Warm, alive, no figure of stone holding a bowl of flames. 

“No.” He admitted. “Even though I probably should, Maria.” 

The smile that broke over her face could have dimmed the sun in comparison. It lit her up from within and she swooped closer to him, her lips touching his forehead tenderly, sweetly. “Thank you. For this, for tonight, for… for everything.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Are you also obsessed with Varric Tethras's chest hair? Got a thing for dwarf lesbians? Always thinking about dwarves in general? If the answer is yes, come join the Varric Tethras fan club at: [cartadwarfwithaheartofgold.tumblr.com](https://cartadwarfwithaheartofgold.tumblr.com/). I take requests!


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